


pray the sun will rise

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ward x Simmons Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 15:54:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5973139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’ll be okay,” she says again as if by repeating the words she can make it so. “We just have to keep our heads.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	pray the sun will rise

**Author's Note:**

> Written for wswinter theme: under your skin.
> 
>  **CONTENT WARNING:** it's actually kind of spoilery so if you feel 100% secure read on but if not, skip to the end note.

The sound of Lorenzo’s fist striking Edward’s jaw is enough to have Jemma flinching in sympathy - she knows what a hit like that feels like. Edward stumbles so badly he hits the wall and falls to his previous spot on the floor. The lab assistant in Jemma’s arms shakes all the worse and Jemma tries to shush her as quietly as possible.

“Like I said,” Lorenzo says, sounding nothing at all like the mild computer tech he’s been posing as for the past two weeks, “ _stay down_.”

Edward is recovering from the shock and looking eager to make another stand.

“It’ll be okay,” Jemma says. Her words are meant for poor Kayla (who is so frightened Jemma’s worried she might soon faint), but her tone is pitched towards Edward. He catches her gaze and she gives him a meaningful look. “It’ll be okay,” she says again as if by repeating the words she can make it so. “We just have to keep our heads.”

Edward nods and sags against the wall, finally raising a hand to his swelling jaw. Jemma understands why cool, collected Edward would be the colleague to stand up to these invaders; she said hello to his two very strong reasons for doing so just an hour earlier, when he dropped them off at the childcare center on the floor below theirs. Of all the days for the girls’ usual daycare to close due to a bout of lice.

She hopes she hasn’t lied to Edward. HYDRA - and the heavily armed men standing guard over them are most definitely that, she’d know that symbol on their uniforms anywhere - isn’t known for its mercy, but that they’re all still alive is promising. Perhaps, if luck is on their side, they will be released once HYDRA takes what it wants. And, if Jemma’s luck in particular is exceptionally good, she’ll be able to keep her head down and go unrecognized. There’s no telling if any of these men might be holdovers from Whitehall’s days as head and if they ID her as a mole, there will certainly be at least once casualty today.

Of course, her desire to remain unidentified does not prevent her from pinning Lorenzo with a truly scathing look. It’s only a fraction of what he deserves after his betrayal - to think she was only yesterday encouraging poor Kayla to ask him out - and he has the decency to look away, though that may simply be due to whatever’s got him and his fellow soldiers suddenly at attention.

“So, what’ve we got in here?”

Jemma stiffens at the sound of the voice. Kayla curls deeper into her arms and Jemma ducks her own head against her shoulder while a litany of curses trails through her mind.

She only half-listens to the report - it’s much the same as the one Lorenzo (traitorous, lying, bastard Lorenzo) gave when the lab was first invaded and its occupants ordered to the ground along the wall - she’s much more interested in what the bloody hell _Grant Ward_ is doing working for HYDRA again. Assuming his girlfriend’s torture at their hands wasn’t enough to keep him away, the help he rendered Coulson in bringing down an important HYDRA lab should have been enough to keep _them_ away from _him_.

“All right,” Ward says in a voice meant to call all attention to him. Jemma stays as she is and thus is in a position to see a young man in a bulletproof vest duck into the walk-in. “We’re here for your research on the brakel virus - and probably everything else you’ve been studying that’s of any value, which you should be more than happy about because that means we won’t have to come back and do all of this again later. So, as long as all of you sit tight, do what you’re told when you’re told, everything will be-” The lull only lasts a second, two at the very most, but Jemma feels as though it lasts an hour. “Fine.” Ward’s voice is duller, heavier, and pitched precisely in her direction.

Heavy footfalls echo in the near-silence (the only sounds are more armored technicians working at stealing their research and the heavy breathing of those like Kayla who are trying not to cry and draw attention to themselves). A rough hand grabs Jemma’s bun and tugs her head back so that she’s looking directly into Ward’s eyes.

“Markham?” Ward asks, his fingers loosening so as not to be painful, but not so much that she can look away. There’s a dangerous edge to his tone that brings all activity to a standstill. “Tell Repin to pick up the pace with that data extraction, we’re gonna have company soon.”

Kayla is slowly, carefully pulling herself from Jemma’s arms and Jemma lets her go. Showing any more concern than she has will only endanger her.

“Sir?” asks the man who was in charge prior to Ward’s arrival.

Ward ignores him. “And Santoro? Why don’t you tell me how you missed one of my _VIPs_ working undercover in this very lab?”

Someone, a woman, curses and Markham turns away, frantically speaking into his earpiece about SHIELD’s impending arrival.

Jemma doesn’t bother to inform Ward that if SHIELD is going to crash this little party of his, it’s unlikely to be on her account. She hasn’t seen or heard from any member of the team in almost as long as it’s been since she last saw _him_.

She reflexively pushes the thought aside and, as is often the case with that particular memory, reacts physically to its resurfacing; the mission to the Arctic base is not one she cares to dwell on for myriad reasons and her head jerks to one side, as if to turn away from it.

Ward’s hand catches in her hair, pulling at her scalp. He smiles down at her and Lorenzo’s stuttered excuses come to a halt. Ward lets go, but moves his hand along her jaw and pushes up, a clear indication he wants her to stand.

“Hiding any splinter bombs today?” he asks conversationally. His mocking smile fades as he too remembers and he steps back, putting distance between them. “Aldridge? Check her for weapons. And be careful about it,” he snaps as a leggy blonde far too pretty for this kind of work comes forward to search Jemma. His eyes fall to her ID badge and some of his smile returns, but it’s only cruel where before there was at least some measure of humor mixed in. “ _Emma Simms_ is smarter than everyone else in this room combined - and SHIELD trained.”

Aldridge’s eyes snap to Jemma’s for a heartbeat, too short a time for Jemma to guess what she’s thinking.

“So.” Ward leans back against the nearest lab bench. “Been a long time. Killed any friends in the last three years?”

Aldridge’s hands flinch on Jemma’s waist, only to immediately resume her hunt at a more hurried pace. Jemma doesn’t bother wondering what of significance happened in Ward’s past three years ago; he can have his secrets so long as he doesn’t go nipping after hers.

“We were never friends,” she says stonily.

Ward doesn’t pay her any mind. “Is this what Coulson’s got you doing full time now? I’ve been wondering why I never see you around anymore. Maybe that’s why Santoro didn’t ID you - you haven’t shown up on any security footage or at any raids, the last photo in your file is from your days inside HYDRA - maybe I’ll have to let him live.”

Lorenzo does not seem terribly relieved.

“She’s clean,” Aldridge says, popping to her feet once she’s checked Jemma’s shoes. “Sir? I’d like to do a quick run-through of the facility, be sure we haven’t missed anything of value.”

Ward starts waving her away.

“Mind if I borrow Ben and Lorenzo?”

Ward freezes and, for the first time since seeing her, takes his eyes off Jemma. “You planning on helping Santoro escape?”

Aldridge lets out an ugly scoff. “Please. I just figure he should have the chance to redeem himself … by being the one to test any potentially deadly security measures we encounter.”

“It’s a civilian lab, Candice.”

Aldridge points a finger over her shoulder at Jemma.

“Right. Santoro! You go through all doorways first.”

Lorenzo very sadly follows a smiling Aldridge out, along with that Markham fellow. Not that it’s much of a relief having them gone; the lab is still ringed by several heavily armed soldiers and the technicians working away at relieving her of all her hard work are not without weapons of their own.

Ward fixes Jemma with an even stare. “Emma Simms?” he demands.

She rolls her eyes. “Not everyone can be a trained specialist. I needed a cover identity I wouldn’t be likely to forget.”

He huffs, plainly disappointed in her skills and paces away from her. She relaxes a hair, relieved not to be the sole focus of his attention any longer.

“Is Coulson after brakel too?” he asks, inspecting her coworkers anew. Several of them are looking at her like she’s grown a second head - or worse, like she’s a part of this betrayal just as Lorenzo is - but Edward at least holds Ward’s gaze as he passes, too angry with the real enemy to care about Jemma’s lies. That’s something. Maybe she’ll be able to count on him to take care of things for her after she’s kidnapped - which she absolutely will be, that’s a given at this point.

As she has no idea whether or not Coulson gives a fig about the virus, she holds her tongue.

“ _Simmons_.” There’s a warning in the word and Ward follows it up by approaching her, only to stop comfortably within arm’s reach. The look on his face is one that would surely send any of his minions running, but Jemma’s more interested in his tightly folded arms. He’s not touching her. It would be a terribly effective intimidation tactic, but he’s keeping his distance and hasn’t laid a finger on her since the moment he brought up their last encounter at the Arctic base.

She knows precisely why. It’s the same reason she wants to badly for him to _go_.

If she’d only thrown the bomb a second earlier. If only Bakshi hadn’t interfered. Everything would be different.

But it wasn’t different.

He backed her into a set of shelves that had already been disturbed by her fight with Bakshi and the force of her knocking into it again sent a box tumbling from the top. It fell near enough to cause them both to jump and, naturally, they both looked at the shattered remains on the floor. A stone statuette sat inside; a shining, pagan idol that was both man and woman - dramatically so - and grinned crudely up at them from between two broken pieces of wood.

Ward recovered first and lifted the gun more squarely at her chest. “What the hell-”

The strangled way he drifted off drew her attention back to him. Her mouth went dry - not at the sight of the gun, but at the sight of _him_. But that made no sense, she hadn’t been physically attracted to him for months now, had in fact worked very hard to cure her of that.

“ _You_ were going to kill me?” he demanded again, with none of his previous anger.

She nodded. Because he was a monster and a murderer and- and- and other things she couldn’t think of. For some reason she could only remember the Bus, early mornings sneaking looks out the lab windows while he trained in the cargo bay.

One of his hands left the gun to slide into her hair and his mouth landed on hers. She pulled at him, eager to have him even closer. The shelves at her back helped somewhat but the vests they wore were bulky and prevented her from touching him the way she wanted to - _needed_ to. He was of a similar mind and broke the kiss only long enough to tear them both off.

And then they were on the floor. Somehow. She would never be quite clear on the mechanics of it, distracted as she was by the things he was doing to her breasts and her own desperate exploration of his chest. She can still remember, embarrassingly, the way she keened when he sucked on her breast and the pleased grin she could feel, sharp through her pleasure.

Soon enough hands were on belts and undoing buttons. He rolled her beneath him and then was inside her, filling her up, driving her higher, while she babbled nonsense about _yes_ and _there_ and _more_ and he spoke pretty, meaningless words. _Fucking beautiful_ , he called her, turning the curse into a joke and her fingers dug into his shoulders hard enough to bruise. She opened her mouth to say something, to return the compliment in her own way, but then he was spilling into her and she was shattering, falling over the edge, and her words came out as a cry of passion.

And then it was over. Ward - Grant Ward, murderer, traitor, all around most evil person she had ever known - was touching her, was on top of her, was _inside of_ her and she was going to be sick if it lasted a _single second longer_.

He pushed away, cursing and demanding to know what had happened in a way that she obviously wasn’t meant to answer. They both knew precisely what had happened and Ward made that clear enough when, while she was buckling her belt with shaking hands, he fired a shot into the idol, shattering it into dust and gravel.

“Fucking aliens,” he muttered and it felt like a slap after- after what he’d- Not that she cared.

She was cold and jittery and could still taste him, could still _feel_ him. She wanted to shower for a _year_.

And then he left. He waited long enough for her to finish dressing, to put her bulletproof vest back on - long enough for her to see the shame in his eyes - and then he walked away, out of her life for three very long, very lonely years.

She doesn’t know if his hesitation to touch her is from shame or respect or … She just doesn’t know, but she’s grateful. Having him here is bad enough, she doesn’t need a reminder of what it felt like to have his hands on her.

She tries not to think of that day for myriad reasons - the loss of the Bus is more painful than it should be, the fall to earth was already the stuff of her night terrors, and while that moment of realization, when the effects of the idol abruptly ended, was _horrible_ , the moments leading up to it were decidedly _not_ and have appeared in her dreams far too often over the years.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

She swallows thickly and, with all the condescension she can muster, says, “I work here.”

“Yeah, but why did Coulson send you to work here?”

Her mouth drops open before she can stop it and, when she manages to rectify her error, it’s all the evidence he needs.

“He didn’t,” Ward says with more than a little shock. “Coulson didn’t send you.”

She looks away.

“Does he even know you’re here?”

She doesn’t have to answer. Ward laughs, happier than he’s been since discovering her.

“They’re not coming. Hell, that’s good news.”

Ward is distracted from whatever else he might say by Markham’s return - his _solitary_ return. “Don’t tell me she really did try to help Santoro escape,” Ward says dryly.

Markham makes some motion indicating they need privacy - perhaps they’ve discovered the work Lab C is doing with alien DNA (Jemma isn’t meant to know but she has enough experience with that sort of thing to know the little phrases one uses to hide the reality of such research) - and Jemma takes Ward’s absence as freedom to relax. She steps forward to lay her hands on the lab bench ahead of her and then settles on a nearby stool.

Perhaps she should have maintained some connection to the team, but at the time she left she felt a complete blackout was best. Of course, they’re certain to know where she is soon enough. Ward will only hold off on informing them of her capture as long as it takes him to decide on the most satisfying way to deliver the news.

She gasps, pulled violently out of her thoughts by a tight grip on her upper arm.

“What is this?” Ward demands. His eyes are blazing, furious and he holds up a cell phone displaying a scowling little face. She’s always thought, in her heart of hearts, that he looked very much like Ward, and seeing their two angry faces side-by-side now, it’s impossible to ignore. Disappointing as that fact may be, it doesn’t hold a candle to the relief of seeing the green dinosaur shirt she put on him just this morning. The photo is recent.

“ _Simmons_.” Now there is a threat mixed with the warning, but relief is still cushioning Jemma’s nerves. Further, though she is absolutely, positively going to be kidnapped now - and in an even worse position than before because Ward will have leverage to hold over her, leverage SHIELD knows nothing about - it’s another sort of relief to have the eventuality she’s always feared finally come to pass.

“Colin,” she says, meeting Ward’s eyes - eyes so very familiar to her as she’s spent more than two years looking into their near-doubles - steadily. “That is my son, Colin.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: non-con due to ~sex pollen. (Seriously non-con, not in the typical sex pollen way where it allows them to discover their feelings. No. This is some rapey sex pollen here, guys.)


End file.
